Hungry in Queens
by anikahanson
Summary: Times are hard, and Peter hasn't had much to eat these days. When desperation drives him to do things he wouldn't normally do, his neighborhood steps in. Rated for language. AU where Peter got his powers younger and hasn't yet met Tony Stark.


Peter Parker was hungry. He knew it, his belly knew it, and now he was certain the entire neighborhood knew it because of how loud his stomach was growling. His position was most certainly given away, not that his target criminals had shown up in the alley anyway. He had been waiting for hours, it felt like. Feeling a cramp coming on in his neck, he sighed in defeat and dropped from his upside-down position onto the concrete below. "What a day," he mumbled to himself. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake and active. He hadn't had a real meal in over three days, and, for a growing teenage boy with superpowers, three days felt like three weeks. These days, even an entire pizza kept him full for only a couple of hours. This was bad, especially since between him and his aunt May, food in the house was sparse. His aunt was without a good paying job for the third time this year, and the electricity had been shut off in their small apartment last month. There was very little money left. His aunt spent her days working a coffee stand in Queens and her nights laying zoned out in front of the neighbor's television. This left 14-year-old Peter to come home to an empty house after school every day, and it gave him the freedom to patrol his neighborhood after dark. He didn't blame his aunt, no, she was doing the best she could. There were very few job opportunities for librarians nowadays, and being one her entire life had left her with very little experience to qualify for anything else. He had tried to find work himself, but, with the recent crackdowns on child labor, no one in the neighborhood would dare to hire an underage kid.

Aunt May had no idea her nephew was Spider-Man, or had superhuman powers. She had no idea he required three times the amount of food as a normal person, had no idea that he was as hungry as he was. And he would never tell her or complain. The food she brought home he was grateful for, and, though she tried to give him the bigger portion, he would always slip a tubberware into her purse the next morning for her lunch, telling her he would eat at his friend's house that day.

But the truth was, he was starving, and the food was getting more and more sparse. Peter's head pounded as he adjusted to being right-side-up. He scaled the nearest building and collapsed wearily on the ledge. Kicking his feet against the side of the building, he watched the people move down below. Everyone moved hurriedly, heads down, hands shoved into their pockets. Some people carried groceries home in totes thrown over their shoulder, others ate quickly while they walked, gyros wrapped in tin foil. Peter realized with a pang that all he could focus on was everyone's food. _I've got to do something_, he thought grimly. _I won't have the energy to patrol much longer. _And he knew it was true. Spiderman would finally be taken down by starvation in a heatless apartment in the very neighborhood he swore to protect. He kicked angrily against the ledge. It wasn't fair.

The bell clanged loudly on the door of a small pizzeria down below, and a trio of middle-aged women departed with their leftovers and to-go drinks in tow. They hugged and went their separate ways, and as he watched, one of the women tossed her drink lazily on top of a nearby garbage pile. She hesitated, then dropped her pizza box on top. She left, hurriedly, like all the others that night; head down, heading for her home. Temptation twisted in Peter's stomach. It was perfectly good pizza, thrown recklessly away by a woman who knew nothing of hunger. As soon as the temptation came, it was replaced with deep shame of even considering the idea. This isn't who he was. If Aunt May ever knew he would take food from the trash, he could never face her again. Again, weighing his options, he was _starving_. The need to live overcame the shame, and before he could continue to think, Peter donned his dirty red hood and slipped down the side of the building. Careful not to be seen, he darted behind garbage cans and parked cars to the pizzeria. He crept up and put his hands on the small box, but then hesitated. Was he really doing this? Yes, yes he was. He tucked the box into his arm and backed away.

"Hey!" A shout came from behind him. Peter whipped around and saw a plump, middle-aged man with a dirty white apron tied haphazardly around his waist. His face was red from the hot summer night and he looked just as shocked as Peter. "Hey!" he repeated, frozen in place. Peter dropped the box like it burned him, and turned to run.

"Wait! Hey!"

Tears pricked Peter's eyes as he started to run, but then the reality of what he was doing stopped him dead in his tracks. Though this was just trash, running made him feel no better than the criminals he fought every night. No, he would face this, with dignity. He turned around and walked slowly back to the red-faced owner.

"I-I can explain," he stuttered. Peter knew the shop owner was lunging out for him, but he let it happen, ashamed of himself. The man grabbed his wrist with a surprising amount of strength and started to drag him towards the back alleyway behind his diner.

"Of all the shit I've seen today.." the man muttered to himself. He opened a door in the alley and dragged Peter in by his wrist. "In here. Now!"

Peter stumbled into a hot, well-lit kitchen and let himself be dragged to a bar stool. "Sit down," the man ordered him. Peter quickly obeyed and watched the man wearily. He was short, beet red, and so fat that he waddled when he walked. He had only a few wisps of dark hair left, but his bushy eyebrows made up for the lack of hair on his head. He turned his attention away from Peter and stormed about his kitchen, clanging pans and prodding the fire in his brick oven. He huffed angrily and began to toss a ball of dough onto the stainless steel countertop. Peter shrank down on his stool, alarmed and confused by the man's behavior. His heart sank as the reality of his situation set in. Word would get around that Spider-Man was taking food out of the trash. It would be all over the papers and the news, and he couldn't show his face in Queens again. This would surely be his demise.

The owner suddenly turned and spewed shredded cheese in Peter's direction. "Goddamn kid is all you are!" He spun the pizza pan violently as he coated it in cheese. "Of all things. Fuck!"

He panned the pizza into his oven and stepped back, wiping his face on his apron. He finally focused in on Peter.

"I'm sorry sir, it was in the trash, I swear it was," Peter stammered. The man held up his hand to silence him and sighed.

"Kid. Why didn't you say somethin'. I can't fuckin' believe this. This is the great Spider-Man who stopped my Ma's apartment from bein' robbed. You look like you're starvin' to death."

Peter hung his head in embarrassment. "You protect this neighborhood," the man continued. "You've completely changed it. I let my daughters walk from school all alone now. You put the guy who killed my fuckin' brother in jail." The owner turned back to his oven. He huffed again and poked the pizza with his wooden paddle. "People come out of their homes now, business is good. That's thanks ta you. My ma, she's got a picture of you on her wall. She loves you. Watches for you on the goddamn news every night."The pizza came out of the oven and Peter briefly wondered if it was cooked through. The man skillfully cut it into slices and slid the sizzling pizza over to Peter.

"I..I can't take your food, sir," Peter mumbled. The smell was overwhelming and made Peter dizzy. It took all of his self control not to grab a slice right then. "Oh, right. The mask thing." The man grabbed a large pizza box and slid the pizza in. He folded the sides and patted it. "There you go."

Peter shook his head. "I'm sorry sir, I just don't have much to eat at home right now-""Eh!" The man interrupted him, waving his hand at his face. "You take care of this neighborhood. This neighborhood will take care of you. Now go on, kid."

Peter stared at the man. He was serious? After all his stomping around, he wasn't even shaming him for taking food from the trash...he was just helping him. This pizza was big enough to fill him up, if just for a little while. He slowly reached out and took the box. "Thank you, thank you sir." The man waved his hand at him again, and strutted out of the kitchen.

Peter felt much better the next night. Yes, he was hungry again, but after sharing an entire pizza with his Aunt May, they had both slept that night, happy and mostly full. His stomach growled at him again though, and he kicked his feet on the ledge of the same building as the night before. He wanted another chance to thank the angry pizzeria owner that had fed him, but he compromised by watching over his shop for a while extra.

"Spiderman!"

Peter turned as he heard a yell down below. It sounded like it came from across the street. He squinted and couldn't see anyone in distress, but he swung across the street anyway to investigate. Again, he heard someone yell his name. He hopped across the buildings quickly, zeroing in on an alleyway behind a sandwich shop. There was a young woman there, but she didn't seem to be in trouble. Quietly, Peter lowered himself down in the alley behind her. "You called for me?"The woman jumped and turned, laughing at herself. "Sorry," she apologized. She stared at him for a moment before thrusting a paper bag into his hands. "Here," she told him, "Queens will take care of you." Before giving him a chance to respond, she hurried back into her kitchen and closed the door. Inside the bag were two hoagies and some homemade fries.

Spider-Man took care of Queens. He stopped robberies, saved children from fires, helped little old ladies cross the street. This was his home, and this was his duty. He loved every minute of it. And Queens took care of Spider-Man. Every night, at precisely 8 PM, a different shop would call for him. They'd give him a bag of fresh food, and quietly too, in the alleyways. He never heard a word about it on the news or on social media. For as long as he needed it, his neighborhood protected him. It wasn't a fix to Peter's problems, it didn't turn the lights back on or pay the gas bill, but as he laid down to sleep every morning, it gave him a deep sense of hope.


End file.
